


An Infinitesimal Issue: DECEIT

by Kitkatzgr8



Series: Spectacular Sanders Sides Sketchy Scribbles [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Gen, I just love me a slimy boi, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 08:09:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19314115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitkatzgr8/pseuds/Kitkatzgr8
Summary: It was almost better, being a kid. The lines between right and wrong were blurred, almost as if they didn’t matter. It was easier that way, to live with what he did, even if the others openly hated him for it. It was easier to do his job, to provide his services to his creator, to lie to others when needed.It made it easier to lie to himself.





	An Infinitesimal Issue: DECEIT

**Author's Note:**

> honestly I don't even know what this was

He was the villain. Had been from the start, and still continued to be. That was the role he had been explicitly created to fill. That was who he was and, like it or not, that's who the others needed him to be. The protector, the self-preserver, the necessary evil, the defender, the reassurer. Even something simple, like telling Thomas that, “Yes, you are a good person,” was in his creator’s best interest, even if it wasn’t necessarily true. As was the casual, “It looks great!”s and, “No, it’s fine”s that he told to his friends and family. ‘Deceit’ did have a negative connotation, but sometimes, misrepresenting the truth was better for everyone. He knew that.

 

And, if the other’s couldn’t see that, it was fine. He didn’t need to be validated by anyone else, not even Thomas, to feel good about what he did. He was fine. He loved what he did.

 

He loved what he did.

 

_ He loved what he did. _

 

**_~~He loved what he did.~~ _ **

 

…

 

Sometimes, the lying got too much. The questioning of his own morals, the things he told to others and himself, everything, became overwhelming. Those were the days that he found himself curled up in the corner, tears spilling down his cheeks, a cape and a hat in a messy pile beside a bed that was surely too big to be his own, even if the silk sheets did seem to match the color scheme of the too-large collared shirt he was tangled in. 

 

But, even though he didn’t know where he was, who he was, or why he was crying, he knew that every time he woke up like that, that it was going to be okay. Sure, the first time, he had shrieked when his little hands had gone to wipe at the tears and found smooth scales littering the left side of his face. But he was used to that now. 

  
  


It was only when he had calmed down, when he’d fallen asleep and awoken the next day, proper size once again, that’d he’d be able to make sense of it all. He never seemed to remember what was happening when he was smaller, but once back in his normal size, all of his memories came flowing back. He still wasn’t sure why he regressed, but he had eventually settled on it being a defense mechanism in Thomas’s mind. Bring him into a more child-like state to calm him down and let him do his job. 

 

~~ He wasn’t at all tempted to seek out the logical side’s help, to see if he could figure out what was going on. ~~

 

But, in time, he found that it didn’t matter. He wasn’t even technically real, just a manifestation of Thomas’s thoughts to help think through things. 

 

...though if he was just a manifestation, why was he able to rise up into videos, to have a physical form outside of Thomas’s mind? What exactly  _ was _ he?

 

He pushed that problem to the side.  ~~It definitely didn’t bother him~~.  What really mattered was the result of the regression. How he felt. How he perceived things.

 

It was almost better, being a kid. The lines between right and wrong were blurred, almost as if they didn’t matter. It was easier that way, to live with what he did, even if the others openly hated him for it. It was easier to do his job, to provide his services to his creator, to lie to others when needed.

 

It made it easier to lie to himself.

 

He started spending his free time less on leafing through books he had managed to snag from the logical side’s room (because, no, he  _ didn’t _ need to keep validating what he did through the words of Immanuel Kant), and more on other things. Like, conjuring up smaller outfits so that he wouldn’t need to run around in a too-big shirt that had to be tied up so he didn’t trip every time he had an inevitable breakdown. Making adjustments to his room, such as moving his desk closer to the door so that he wouldn’t have to drag the desk chair over to open it every time. Keeping a stocked supply of snacks in the bottom drawer of the dresser where he was sure to find them so he wouldn’t starve on the times it lasted a couple days. ‘Borrowing’ small items that were difficult for him to conjure from each of the other side’s rooms while they were out doing videos; a puzzle from Logan, a few miscellaneous plushies from Patton’s, a Disney movie from Roman’s (after making sure that it was from the back of the shelf, and that there were already at least five other copies so that the creative side didn’t notice), and a pack of markers and notebook from Virgil’s (which had taken a bit of digging, but he had known that the anxious side had a hidden passion for art and eventually found the impressive stash of supplies shoved under his bed). He’d occasionally pop up a video as well, if only to keep up appearances, but he’d only show for a couple seconds, then be off to more important things. 

 

He didn’t constantly try and drive himself into these breakdowns, but he couldn’t ignore the twist of pleasure in his stomach even as he laid sobbing on the floor, breaths coming too fast for him to get enough air. Because, he knew, once it was all over, he’d be back in that childlike innocence. That he’d be able to have that reprieve of hating himself, of lying to himself, of having to say that everything was fine when it wasn’t. 

 

Because, when he didn’t have to worry about that, he got closer and closer to actually being fine. 

 


End file.
